


Animal Crackers and Pirate Adventures

by AChapterCanBeABook, Siogosho



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Kidlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AChapterCanBeABook/pseuds/AChapterCanBeABook, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siogosho/pseuds/Siogosho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer vacation, well spent in the woods exploring, observing, in Sherlock Holmes' opinion. Solo adventures over his many years at his summer home are abruptly disrupted by another boy who would so enthusiastically become a pirate doctor and join him in his explorations. Summer vacation, well spent with John Watson, in Sherlock Holmes' opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bird Watching

**Author's Note:**

> KidLock AU  
> Co-Written with my friend Siogosho (on fanficiton and tumblr). She jsut recently got an AO3 under the same name

Sherlock lifted a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun beams streaming through the leaves. His eyes squinted slightly as his mind became alert the more he woke up. His other hand pushed him up from the base of an old oak tree. He speculated that he had been out there for approximately two hours and fourty seven minutes and felt slightly cross with himself for having fallen asleep while observing the bird family in the branches above him.

The birds had all left now, but they were near. Sherlock closed his eyes to better his hearing. It definitely was that family he had been observing. They were nearly thirty eight meters away. Sherlock began to stand but stopped he heard a rustling. It was a different rustling from what he had been observing these last few weeks. His small body froze as he listened again. The rustling seemed to be human made.

The rustling continued even as he straightened and looked around. It only took him a few seconds to locate where exactly the noise was coming from. The bush, which was about a yard or so to his left, shook slightly as Sherlock slowly approached it. He could barely make out a shape crouching behind the leaves. The figure seemed to be facing away from himself and they were either quite interested in whatever was on the ground in front of them, or they were deaf, because Sherlock was almost upon the bush and they hadn’t noticed his presence yet.

It wasn’t until he was right behind the bush that he realized the figure was a young boy. He had dirty blonde hair and was wearing a cream coloured jumper despite the warm summer air. Sherlock leaned over the boy to see what he was so fixated on. A fledgling lay on the ground, one of it’s wings bent at an odd angle. The wing was clearly broken but the bird made no sound of pain. It’s breathing was rhythmic as if it had accepted it’s fate.

“It’s alright,” the blonde boy spoke. “I’ll take you home and nurse you back to health. You’ll be flying again in no time.” The boy began to reach for the bird when Sherlock spoke up.

“It will do no good to pick him up and take him home like that,” the blonde boy retracted, startled, and looked back at the figure he did not notice was looming above him. “You will have to give it a splint first.” Sherlock continued, waving his hand in the air slightly, as if it were obvious.

“But I don’t have the proper tools,” the blonde boy hesitated, still slightly shocked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled a sturdy stick from the bush and stepped around the blonde boy to the bird. He pulled the lace from one of his shoes and began to make a splint around the bird’s wing. It made soft cries in pain, Sherlock noted that the boy’s pupils dilated slightly at each cry. The pain of the bird clearly upset him. When finished he picked the bird up and wrapped it carefully in his scarf.

“Whether you have the proper tools or not is unimportant. It matters if you can correctly do the task at hand.” Sherlock’s voice had an air of arrogance. He trekked forward, looking back at the boy who had yet to move from his crouched position on the ground. “We’ll take the bird back to my home. It isn’t as far as I assume yours is.” With that he started forward, not waiting for the boy to follow.

“Hey, wait!” The boy called after him, and Sherlock paused, “What’s your name?”

“Sherlock Holmes, follow me,” the darker haired boy looked back at the blonde with a smirk. The boy scrambled to catch up.

“My name’s John Watson, how old are you Sherlock?” 

Sherlock could feel himself sigh inwardly at the string of innumerable questions that come with meeting someone new, “I am ten and a half years old. By the looks of you, you are about my age as well. I would say nine, nearly ten.”

Sherlock was halted by abrupt laughter behind him. He turned, giving the boy a confused stared. John was nearly doubled over in laughter. He calmed himself and walked up to Sherlock, patting his shoulder. Now that the boy was standing next to him he could see that the blonde was nearly taller than him.

“I am almost eleven. About two weeks from being my birthday.” John smiled good naturedly and Sherlock scowled, confusion inscribed in the lines of his face.

“I’m usually always right,” he huffed, and turned away, trying not to show how troubled he was at being wrong. John noticed but just kept a small smile to himself. He didn’t want to upset the younger boy further. 

The two soon came across a small stone path that led south of the way they were previously walking. Sherlock turned down it without so much as a thought. The way to his home was seared into his brain, as he had been walking these woods since the summer began. The trees around them began to thin the further down the path they went. Sherlock looked up at the sky and noted the sun had moved its position. Supper would be soon and Sherlock wondered if he should ask John to stay for the meal or if he should send him home immediately, once the bird was taken care of. 

They were silent as they made their way through the forest, except for the occasional tweet from the bird still nestling in Sherlocks palm, but the quiet wasn’t quite as unpleasant as Sherlock thought it might be. John didn’t appear to be annoyed or uncomfortable like all the other children who had been forced to spend time with Sherlock, which was a surprise. He honestly seemed pretty at ease, with his hands in his pockets and his mouth set in a faint smile as he walked. John looked around himself in wonderment, his face lighting up at the sight of the abundant and vibrant, green foliage. Sherlock could read all over John that he was from the city.

The sunbeams bent around them casting a green tinge on their faces. The colour bounced across John’s amazed blue eyes, elation sparkled across them. Sherlock watched curiously as the boy walked ahead of him. There seemed to be nothing special from what Sherlock could see, but the boy ducked under some tree branches and emerged again with a small flower in a bright shade of purple. 

“I’ve never seen this flower before, it doesn’t grow where I live.” John commented quietly, not really expecting Sherlock to answer. 

“It is a Crocus,” Sherlock said, taking the flower from John. “It means youthfulness, cheerfulness, or gladness. Though as a Valentine’s gift it could mean love. It was so named because of the Grecian word ‘Krokos’, meaning ‘saffron yellow’. Though it is more often seen in this vibrant purple colour versus yellow. It’s numerology is seven which represents knowledge, awareness, and understanding.” Sherlock shrugs, and hands the flower back to John. John takes the flower looking a little stunned before he starts to laugh lightly. Sherlock frowns, unsure if he should be offended.

“That’s pretty amazing, you know?” He continues laughing quietly.

“What is?” Sherlock tilts his head slightly to the side, looking at John through ever curious and calculating eyes.

“How you know everything,” Johns nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sherlock suddenly felt his stomach flip a little at the sight of John being so sure.

“It is also poisonous. All parts of it toxic,” Sherlock added with a small blush turning away from John.

John quickly dropped the flower and started wiping his hands on his trousers. Sherlock noticed his frantic movements and quickly added, “Though only if you ingest it,” with a small smirk. John playfully hit Sherlock in the arm.

“Don’t scare me like that,” he laughed and continued walking in the direction they were headed before.

“I can assure you that was not my intention, and we are nearing my home… would you like to stay for dinner?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, almost nervous.

John stared at him for a moment, his eyes kind and friendly, before replying with enthusiasm, “I’d have to call my Mum and ask, but I’m sure it would be okay!”

Sherlock gave a soft smile and rounded some tall hedges to reveal a vast lawn leading up to a large, extravagant mansion. John’s eyes widened significantly at the sight.

“Y-you live here?” He stuttered.

“Well, this is our summer home,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. 

“Is your actual house just as big?” John’s eyes lit up with curiosity.

Sherlock could feel the corner’s of his mouth turn up as he spoke, “much bigger. And I know every corner, hallway, and secret passage in both houses.”

“Secret passages?” Johns mouth opened in surprise, and Sherlock nodded with an amused grin.

The pair strode up the lawn. John couldn’t help but admire the few fruit trees that lined the grassess boundries. He stopped for a moment before racing over to the near by apple tree. He reached for an apple before glancing over at Sherlock, who was watching him with great interest, and silently asked for permission. Sherlock raised an eyebrow before nodding, and John fluidly picked the brightest red near him. He bit into it on the way back to Sherlock, his face scrunching up in pleasure.

“You should wash that first next time.” Sherlock frown, and John shrugged, wiping the juice off his lips with the back of his hand. 

“A bit of dirt won’t hurt me,” John said while nudging Sherlock lightly.

They reached the door to Sherlocks summer home at this point and John stepped back to let Sherlock go in front of him. His eyes scanned up the giant mahogany doors. They shined with a great brilliance from the lacquer layer on them. Sherlock paused, his hand on the door knob, before he turned around.

“I’d like to warn you about my brother, Mycroft. He can be a bit of a… Prick,” Sherlock said for the lack of a better word. He waited for John to nod, who was busy throwing the core of his apple into one of the tin trash bins on the side of the porch, and then opened the door.

The door opened smoothly, sliding across checkered, tiled flooring. the entrance hall was large and opened up to a double staircase leading to the second floor. The stairs were a dark, almost black wood with white wood railing. It matched perfectly with the tiles and was accented with a large royal violet carpet stretching across the middle of the floor and leading to two doors on either side of the room. Above then hung a crystal chandelier. John’s eyes glimmered at the sight of everything, from the flooring and chandelier, to the flora and the portraits on the walls. It was a magnificent sight. 

The door slammed shut behind them and it seemed to call out a woman of equal beauty to the entirety of the room. She had long, flowing, curls that were as dark as the night, and eyes as piercing as the tip of an arrow, though they held a softness among their glas colour. It wasn’t hard to see the resemblance between her and Sherlock, and John couldn’t help but stare. She smiled and a look of surprise came across her face at the sight of John standing next to her son.

“Welcome back, darling, I thought you were coming home an hour ago?” She questioned, but she didn’t look angry. In fact she appeared delighted the more that she looked at Sherlock's company, “Who’s this?” 

“A… fr-” Sherlock started before correcting himself, “a valiant man who chose to save this bird from certain death, John Watson.”Sherlock held the bird up for his mother to see. She furrowed her eyebrows and cautiously stepped forward to gently take the bird from him. She examined the handmade splint and the wing, with concern in her eyes.

“It is nice to meet you ma’am,” John nodded to the woman and she nodded back with a smile before her attention went back to the bird.

“Well at least this one is alive this time, unlike the others you have brought here. Do you promise to nurse this one back to health properly?” She gave Sherlock a knowing eye as she cradled the bird.

Sherlock sighed, slightly exasperated, in a childish way. Mrs. Holmes smiled and gestured for the boys to follow her into the foyer. She pulled a first-aid kit from on of the drawers and began to carefully wrap the bird’s wing. She bird chirped softly in pain. John inched closer in worry, but Mrs. Holmes soon was finished. She handed the bird back to Sherlock.

“Take him up to your room and make a proper nest for him. I’ll bring you small bowls for some water and food for him,” She smiled and left the two boys with the bird.

Sherlock nodded at John in a gesture for the boy to follow him. He led him up the grand staircase and down the hall to the left. This led to another staircase to the third floor. The third floor had large hallways that were decorated with portraits of royalty and large suits of armor. Stretching down the hallways was the same violet carpet as on the first floor. Now that John was close he could see a lovely gold design embroidered on the edges. The mansion began to feel more like a castle as they walked by large windows with heavy drapes pulled open. The drapes matched the carpet and if pulled closed, John was sure, they would block out all light from the outside, essentially creating midnight at midday.

As they rounded some corners a few doors passed them and John wondered whose room it could be if it were not Sherlock’s. As they walked through the twisting and never ending halls a thought kept coming back to John. 

“What did your mum mean, ‘at least it is alive this time?’” John looked curiously over at his companion.

“I have often brought home dead birds after my escapades. I would use them for experiments, such as how quickly maggots take to start forming, or how long after death will the bird start to bloat from internal fluids,” Sherlock had a small glimmer in his eye. His fascination for the peculiar shining through. He looked over at John who had a small look of disgust on his face and quickly added, “though my favourite is to prank Mycroft with them by leaving them in odd places. Such as on the toilet, or on his pillow”

John let out a laugh and had to stop in his tracks to hold his stomach. Sherlock turned to him and found himself once again staring at the boy confused. 

“You are very strange Sherlock. Very smart as well,” John smiled. “I find it amazing that you are so interested in stuff like that,” John began walking again. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Sherlock’s brows pinched together as he contemplated this. There was a large option of careers that included what he was passionate about, but he could not narrow it down to one. There had been many things he aspired to be over the past few years but only one seemed to come back to him that had particularly stuck out among the others. He wasn’t sure if he could call it a profession, but it seemed like a plausible enough answer to satiate the boy’s question.

“A pirate.”

John’s eyes lit up and his smile overtook his face. “I want to be a doctor, but a pirate sounds like much more fun!” He exclaimed.

“Well pirates do need doctors,” Sherlock smiled. “I’ll be the captain and you can be my right hand man as a pirate doctor.” Sherlock stopped in front of a deep blue door that stood out from the rest and turned the handle. He pushed the door in to reveal a completely bedraggled room.

For such a large room Sherlock had managed to have stacks of books, papers, and other miscellaneous objects scattered on every inch. A chemistry set was set out across his desk, various chemicals that John did not wish to discover what they were, were in the beakers. An armoire stood with it’s doors open and the clothes hung immaculately in their space. The bed was also very tidy. John walked carefully about the room examining all that had collected on the surface of the floor. He reached a fireplace on the north wall. Among the various books that sat on the mantle, on one pile sat a skull.

“Um, Sherlock, what is this?” John looked back, worry etched across his face.

“Ah a friend. Well I say friend… Don’t worry I didn’t actually know him. I got it from someone my parents know that works in a mortuary. The family didn’t even notice it was missing. I like to talk to it sometimes when I am working on experiments. I call it Billy.” Sherlock said absent mindedly as he created a comfortable nest out of some blankets on a free space on his nightstand. He tossed his scarf into a dirty laundry basket and grabbed a new one from his armoire.

John’s face softened, knowing that Sherlock wasn’t completely crazy or a murderer. “That is pretty cool.”

Sherlock walked over to John and stuck out his hand with his pinkie sticking up. John looked at him curiously. 

“So what do you say about being my right hand man as a pirate doctor?”

John locked his pinky with Sherlock’s and shook their hands up and down. “I say it’s a promise.” They both grinned and dropped their hands, elated by their newfound friendship in each other. Sherlock’s mother soon walked into the room with a small bowl of water and a another with bird feed in it. She huffed slightly as she made her way around piles of Sherlock’s stuff.

“Oh dear, Sherlock you should really tidy up in here.” She set the bowls by the nest and turned to the boys. “So John, will you be staying for supper?”

“Oh I’d have to call my mother and ask, may I borrow your phone?” John questioned and took a couple steps closer to Mrs. Holmes, being mindful of the clothes and items on the floor.

“Of course, sweetheart, the phone’s in the study.” She smiled and left the room, heading to the kitchen, John presumed. Sherlock gently pulled on his arm to get him to follow him out the door. They walked slowly, so Sherlock's mother would be out of earshot when they started speaking about their future pirate plans once again.

They reached the study in record time and John was surprised to see a young boy, aging to the brink of young man, sitting at a large oak desk, surrounded by piles of paper. The boy had short wavy brown hair and tired looking eyes, as if he had spent the entire night awake doing paperwork. From Sherlock's expression, John could only guess this was Mycroft, Sherlocks brother.

“Finally returned home, I see.” Mycroft looked up from a piece of paper, and his eyes widened almost comically at the presence of John, “and you brought a friend.” 

“Yes, and it’s none of your business.” Sherlock folded his arms and John was slightly surprised by his closed off behavior to his sibling. Sherlock was glaring at Mycroft when he showed John the phone.

“Hi mum!” John said when his mother answered after the third ring.

“John, where have you gone off to?” John could hear the slight concern in her voice, but he also knew that she trusted his decision making skill, as well as his judge of character enough to know he wouldn’t get into too much trouble.

“I’ve made a friend, mum. He wanted to know if I could stay for dinner?” John questioned, and grinned at Sherlock, who was trying to hide his surprise and the readiness John had called him a friend.

“What’s this friends name?” 

“Sherlock.”

“Sherlock? As in Sherlock Holmes?” His mother sounded surprised, even more so than John was at the fact that his mother knew his new found friends last name.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” John asked furrowing his eyebrows, causing a crease to show on his forehead.

“Oh, honey, everyone knows the Holmes family…” She trailed off for a moment, and John was about to inquire whether that was a good or bad thing when she spoke again, “You can stay, but only of you can get a ride home, because dad and I are going to a charity dinner tonight. Remember?"

“Oh right.” John frowned, and turned to Sherlock, tilting the phone away from his mouth, “My mom says I can stay if you can give me a ride home?”

“Of course we can.” Mycroft piped up from his chair before Sherlock could answer. Sherlock scowled, but nodded in agreement.

“Okay, thanks.” John tilted back the phone to speak to his mother again, “They said they could give me a ride home.”

“Oh good, I would hate for you to miss out on a new friend, John. I’ll see you tomorrow then, because I expect you to already be in bed by the time we get home.” John’s mother spoke sternly, but John knew it was all just mock play. He normally never had a bedtime in the summer.

“Okay, mom, thanks!” John smiled brightly before adding, “I love you, goodbye.”

“I love you, goodbye, John.” John’s mother laughed before he heard the click that ended the call.

John placed the phone back in the phone holder and practically twirled around to face the Holmes brothers again. Sherlock smiled and gestured for John to leave the room with him. It was clear in the way he hurried out that he really wanted to get away from Mycroft. After passing through the doorway they made their way to the kitchen, where Sherlocks mother most likely was. She poked her head out from said room and smiled at the boys.

“Sherly, will you please go set the dining room table? Your father has a banquet tonight so only set it for five,” She said sweetly.

Sherlock opened the cupboard and pulled out five plates and directed John to grab the silverware from the drawer. They both marched into the fairly large dining room, and John’s surprised expression was almost enough to make Sherlock laugh outright. The kitchen table was long enough to seat at least ten people, and the room itself was extremely decadent. The center of the table had a candelabra and it already had place-mats set in front of all the chairs. 

On each wall hung a painting of one of the members of the family. John could recognize Sherlock, Mycroft and their mother. There was another man who John hadn’t seen yet, as well as an older woman. Sherlock saw where his eyes went and he smiled.

“That’s my father and grandmother,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the paintings John was looking at. John nodded in understanding.

“Are you talking about me Sherlock?” The older woman, who was in the painting, asked as she made her way in.

“Perhaps, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said with a smile.

“Only good things I hope,” Mrs, Hudson chuckled, walking over to the boys. “And who is your friend?”

“Mrs. Hudson, this is John. John this is my grandmother, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock introduced.

“Why do you call her Mrs. Hudson?” John asked innocently.

“Oh dear, I was never fond of being called grandmother or anything of the like. And well everyone has called me Mrs. Hudson because I don’t like to go by Holmes ever since the death of Sherlock’s grandfather, whom was a bad man, so I simply go by my maiden name,” She smiled sweetly, and with that turned, going into the kitchen, leaving a very confused John behind. 

Sherlock smiled knowingly, and nudged John to the side, and set the plates on the table. John swiftly followed suit and placed the silverware down next to the them. When all was set they heard the kitchen doors swing open and Mrs. Holmes, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson entered the room. The former two held Serving dishes with that night’s meal on it. There were potatoes, three different kinds of vegetables, a ham, rolls, a pie and chocolate pudding.

Mrs. Hudson set down a small gravy boat among the rest of the food with a smile before taking her place at the head of the table. Mrs. Holmes sat to her right and Mycroft sat next to her. Sherlock took his place to the left of Mrs. Hudson and nodded for John to sit next to him. They all began to serve themselves their food. John looked around the choices and couldn’t decide what to start with until different kinds of vegetables began to be served onto his plate. He looked over to Sherlock, who had been putting them there.

“It’s important for growing boys to eat their vegetables,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

“Thanks,” John said with a smile before grabbing a slice of the ham and some potatoes and gravy as well. He dug into his food happily. It was all delicious. “Mrs. Holmes, you cooking is excellent.” he commented.

“Why thank you dear,” Sherlock’s mother gave a content smile. “So, John,” she started. “Judging by your last name, would your parents happen to be head surgeon of St. Bartholomew’s and one of the Board of Director’s for that jurisdiction?”

“Yes, they are,” John gave a smile. 

“I thought that might be the case. My husband is quite fond of them. They should be attending his party tonight down in the town. They also bought that cottage just off the edge of town from us a few summers back.” Mrs. Holmes gave a small laugh. “It seems only fate that you two boys met.”

“John, how is school for you?” Mrs. Hudson piped up.

“It is fairly well. I pass all of my classes with high marks, though I excel at literature and science. Wish I could do a bit better in maths though,” John said humbly with a meek smile. 

“That is good,” Mrs. Hudson gave a reassuring nod. “What about home life? Do you have any siblings?”

“I have one, an older sister. Her name is Harriet and she is a real brat. Gets in all sorts of trouble with not doing her dishes properly, and having a different girlfriend every week. She picks on my all the time too,” John gave an exasperated sigh and a laugh was shared across the table from the adults. Sherlock gave John a look of kindredship. John returned the look as he took another bite of potatoes. “Is Mycroft as bad as my sister?” he asked pleasantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and they settled upon said older brother. Sherlock chose to remain quiet in that moment as he felt his mother’s eyes boring into him. Mrs. Hudson watched with an entertained grin. She knew very well the fight that would break out had Sherlock uttered any malcontent comment. John caught on though and he continued to eat silently.

A few minutes rolled by without so much as a word. John felt a little discomforted by it, but the rest of the company seemed pretty at ease, making him feel like the quiet was more than just common. He continued to chew his food thoughtfully when he felt a soft kick against his calf, causing him to jump. He looked over to where Sherlock was eyeing him subtly and tilted his head in question. Sherlock's eyes flicked briefly over to Mycroft and back to John. He did this a few more times, before John nodded and looked over to Mycroft with his eyebrows furrowed. Mycroft was staring down at his food, looking a little more than just upset. John mentally slapped himself, because clearly this was his fault, having compared Mycroft to his sister.

John quickly spoke up, “I didn’t mean to compare you to a girl or to call you a bad brother or anything. I apologize.” John fidgeted in his seat.

Mycroft was startled by the sound of the young boys voice suddenly and he gave a soft smile. “No, it is quite alright. I am very aware of the discontentment between siblings that Sherlock and I share.” He continued to eat, noticing that not eating previously had upset the younger boy. John smiled and focused back on his plate.

They continued the meal in a more pleasant almost silence, a few words being exchanged between Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes. When their meals were finished Mrs. Holmes cut into the pie and served everyone a piece and poured them a warm cup of tea. There was a hum of delight from everyone. Mycroft spooned some chocolate pudding onto his plate as well. This did not go unmissed by the astute Sherlock Holmes.

“Feeling brave tonight Mycroft?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

Mycroft let out a sigh and stood with his plate and his tea. “If anyone needs me I will be in the study. Goodnight John,” Mycroft said with a nod and left the room.

“Oh Sherlock, must you every time? Can’t you just let your brother enjoy his desert? You know he is sensitive about his weight, just leave him be,” Sherlock’s mother chided. “That’s it,” she lifted the plates of pie away from Sherlock and John. “No pie for you tonight, and we must get John home, it is getting late.”

Sherlock sighed and slid off of his chair with a huff. “He picks on me all the time though and you don’t get mad at him.”

“Because I never see it. He is wise enough not to anger his brother in front of people who can ground him. You are lucky you have a friend over or I would have sent you to your room immediately and made you get ready for bed,” Mrs. Holmes said matter-of-factly. John could see where Sherlock got his attitude and frankness from.

Mrs. Holmes ushered the two out of the house and to the car. Making sure they were both buckled in she started the car and drove down the long drive way and onto a tree lined dirt path. The sun nearly tipped over the horizon and looking out the window John could see the stars peeking out. He was unaware of how long he had been out, or how long he was in the Holmes’ home. he watched as the trees passed by, counting each on to see how far his summer cottage was from the mansion. About ten minutes passed and John grew tired of counting, though he could see the lights of his cottage not but a few kilometers out. A smile drew across his face at the knowledge that he wouldn’t be too far from his friend.

Mrs. Holmes pulled up to the cottage and unlocked the car doors with a smile back at John, “you take care now honey. Come up any time you like.”

“I will. Thank you for dinner, and the ride.” He opened the door and stepped halfway out of the vehicle. “See you tomorrow. Sherlock?”

Sherlock, who had been bitter the entire car ride, lit up at John’s request. He nodded to the boy, “same place? I have an interesting place to show you.”

John nodded back and stepped out of the car. He closed the door and bounded up to the cottage before turning back and waving to the two. Sherlock waved back as his mother drove off, a smile curving from ear to ear on his face. John entered the cottage ecstatic for the next day to come. Not even Harriet’s incessant questions on why he was so giddy could bring him down. When his sister grew tired of pestering him he went up to his room and got ready for bed, eager to fall asleep and for the next day to come.


	2. Barnacle Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DO YOU WANT TO BUILD A SNOWMAN JOHN?  
> DO YOU  
> I MEAN SHIP  
> LIKE A PIRATE SHIP

An effervescent wind blew across the hills and the tree tops. Not a soul could stay asleep at the call of such a beautiful day, much less so that of a young, blonde, boy who leapt from his covers and bounded down the stairs of his summer cottage. he was greeted in the kitchen with smiles as he sat at the table for a warm breakfast and some tea his mother had prepared. After thanking her politely for the meal he dug in ravingly, and so swiftly he had to gulp down his drink to not choke on his toast.

“John dear, what has you in such a hurry that eating breakfast has become such a dangerous task?” His mother asked with an amused grin.

“I am meeting with Sherlock again, we are going adventuring around the woods,” John spoke through a mouthful of egg.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s gross,” Harry said with a roll of her eyes at her child of a brother.

John stuck his tongue out at the girl and continued to shovel food into his mouth. Thanks to the speed of his chewing it wasn’t long until he was done. He quickly bid his mother a farewell and raced around to gather his things he was going to take. He shouted out a loud, “Goodbye,” on his way through the door.

He ran up the block, smiling before ducking into the trees and retracing his steps from the day previous. He bounced across the dirt and bounded up and down the small hollows he would run into. Nothing could coerce him to slow his pace. The excitement ran through his veins and merely compelled him along faster. What the day had in store he did not know but that only thrilled him more. Nearly out of breath he came over a hill to see his dark haired friend just off in the distance. With what little he could muster he raised his hands to his mouth and shouted:

“Sherlock!”

The boy turned and a smile filled his features upon seeing his friend. He headed for the blonde at a meandering pace. John, though slower than before, jogged to meet his friend. Finally by the boy’s side he rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a small smile but did not question the boy.

“You have very good stamina,” he commented before nodding for John to follow him. The two ventured farther into the forest then they had yesterday. The winding path twisted and turned in ways that John was positive it was impossible for Sherlock to know exactly where they were going. Just when John was about to voice his concerns, Sherlock turned abruptly around and his face was filled with excitement.

“John, are you ready?”

John nodded hesitantly, not sure what to expect. Sherlock pushed back a bundle of low hanging branches to reveal a vast expanse of water. The blue, glass like firmament glittered with the refracted sunbeams of the early morning. Sherlock smiled as he watched John’s jaw drop and the extraordinary sight. He led the boy forward to the water and gestured outward.

“This is our seven seas, John. We shall sail them and be praised as the greatest pirates of our time,” Sherlock’s eyes shined with excitement as he spoke. John couldn’t help his smile as well as he watched his friend’s eyes mirror the lake so exquisitely.

A realization came upon John and he frowned, “Sherlock how are we going to be pirates if we don’t have a ship?”

“Don’t worry John, I have this all planned out. My father rarely ever sets foot in the tool sheds and there are plenty of supplies in there. We will build a boat that towers high above the trees. We’ll hang the Jolly Roger from the highest mast and everyone will know John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, greatest pirate and pirate doctor of all time, have set sail.”

John laughed and nodded excitedly, “Okay, where’s your Dad’s tool shed?”

“It’s this way,” Sherlock pointed his finger to his right and started walking, more like skipping in John’s opinion, but he just smiled at his younger friend’s antics. They walked for a few minutes, talking loudly, when John noticed a familiar building rising above the trees in the distance.

“Is that your house?” John stared, confusion etched into his features. The top of the mansion could be seen of the trees and it stood stark against the color of the morning sky.

“Yes, our property is rather large. My Dad’s shed is in the back garden” Sherlock led the way through a couple more trees and soon they found themselves at a wooden gate. Sherlock opened it eagerly and headed towards what John assumed to be the shed. It was more like a barn, its size was about as massive as the house. It was painted a dull grey, and appeared to be two stories tall. Surrounding it was several long flower and vegetable beds that were sectioned off from the rest of the yard. There were tulips, roses, tomatoes, carrots, and potatoes.

John speculated over the flowers for a moment before his mouth spread into a grin, “you grow Crocuses. That is how you knew about them.”

Sherlock looked away shyly, having been found out. “Well they are lovely flowers.” He moved to the ‘shed’ doors and pulled them open. “Come on John, we need to get supplies for our ship.”

The shed was just as big as it appeared to be on the outside. Though the second floor was only a platform around the edges of the wall, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the floor. John assumed it was meant for a large motor boat or something unreasonably tall. He looked around further and saw two or three stacks of planks of wood nestled in the corner behind what looked like camping gear, The wood ranged from a dark brown to an almost light tan, and were several different lengths. Lining the walls of the shed were tools made for gardening, and wood cutting. There was also a ladder hanging horizontally on the left side wall. It was hard to see on the second floor but John recognised some bags of fertilizer in the far right corner, and he could make out a taxidermied bear in the other corner.

Sherlock headed straight for the wood and ignored the rest of the items scattered across the floor. John thought that Sherlock’s mother must not come in here often or else she would have a fit at the mess. Then again she must come in here, because who else would be doing the gardening? John was shaken out of his thoughts when Sherlock called him over to the wood.

“We should use the darker wood on the bottom, it is sturdier and stronger, while the lighter wood will go on top. Come to think of it I don’t think we have enough wood to build an entire ship. A raft would be easier, but we still have to hang the Jolly Roger from it,” Sherlock grinned.

“We would need to get wooden dowels though. Maybe I can convince my dad to take us into town sometime to get some for the mast.”

“We could pick up some other supplies, like paint as well.” Sherlock smiled at John, becoming more excited every moment.

“We would have to assemble the raft at the lake though. When we get it big enough I don’t think you and I could carry it all back there.” John looked over the wood, contemplating their best options.

“There is a tree with a hollow at the bottom on the river’s edge. We could keep some of our tools and wood there.”

“Alright,” John nodded and the pair loaded wood and tools onto a nearby wheelbarrow and a small faded red wagon. Sherlock glanced between the two carts nervously, before John, with a soft smile, took the clearly heavier wheelbarrow. Sherlock grabbed the handle of the wagon with a small amount of contempt. John just laughed lightly at the younger, smaller, and slightly scrawnier boy. They wheeled their supplies out of the shed and across the large lawn of the Holmes manor. The trek back to the lake seemed to take longer than the trek to the shed. But the boys persevered with their heavy loads and soon the crystalline haven was in sight just over the crest of a hill.

Seeing the water gave them a renewed strength, and they trudged on quickly. Finally reaching their destination they sat down heavily on the sand of the beach. Sherlock had a small smile of achievement on his face and the sight of it made John laugh louder than he had all day. It was cut short however when a clap of thunder resonated across the trees. John frowned and looked around, finally noticing how the leaves in the trees were quivering and the wind was picking up speed. He had thought nothing of it earlier, the breeze had been a comfort from the heat and humidity that caused their sweat to stick their clothes to their skin from their laborious activities, but now he saw the clouds rolling closer to the lake. He vaguely took in the slightly darkening sky, before turning to Sherlock who also appeared to come to the same conclusion as John. It was going to rain.

Sherlock’s face was a series of emotions and it took all of John’s brain to process them. He first appeared surprised, then sad, and then multiple emotions that John couldn’t place. When it finally settled for one, he looked livid. The expression conveyed a feeling similar to having burnt both sides of your grilled cheese sandwich. John suddenly felt nervous. A second clap of thunder rolled across the sky and John put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Sherlock, where is the tree we can hide our stuff in?” John asked, assessing that their supplies would need cover from the rain.

Sherlock blinked and his face softened back to his normal expression, “ It is just south of here about 20 meters.” The boy pulled his wagon, leading the blond to a large and old tree. He rounded the tree and pushed aside a bush and some low hanging branches to reveal a nearly hollow inside. Sherlock pushed the wagon inside before quickly leaving to allow John to fit the wheelbarrow it the little space that was left. Sherlock frowned, still a little miffed by their cut short fun, but content that their supplies would be safe for the night.

Rain began to pour onto the two boys, a surprising rush pulled them from their small victory. With side glances at each other they made a beeline for the mansion. They shoes squished against the softening earth and they often lost traction, nearly falling into the mud. The manor came into sight just over the crest of the hill they began to climb. Thunder rolled around them and the occasional bolt of lightning lit the sky with it’s cirri stretching across the dark clouds. The soft thump of Sherlock tripping was masked by the omnipotent weather. John glanced back to find Sherlock farther back than he remembered and picking himself off the ground. The boy furrowed his brow at something just at his feet. He bent and scooped it up before hurrying to John who waited for him.

“What did you trip over?” John look curious.

Sherlock smiled and held out a small green creature to the unsuspecting blonde, “this.” The frog croaked lightly in Sherlock’s hands. John recoiled in surprise before letting out a light laugh.

“Maybe if you kiss it it will turn into a prince,” the older boy joked. Sherlock scrunched his nose in disgust.

“Don’t be ridiculous John. Frogs don’t turn into princes,” Sherlock smirked and pushed past the boy, continuing their trek back to the mansion. “But perhaps we could hide it under Mycroft’s pillow.”

By the time they arrived they were soaked through their summer clothing, and were shivering from the wet. Ms Hudson greeted them by the door, barely fazed by their drenched states. She led them through the mansion to the bathroom on the main floor, chuckling on the way. John appreciated the kindness and told her so, which just made her smile wider, and shoot a glance toward Sherlock, who was trying his best to ignore his grandmother.

John pushed his confusion aside and admired the way to the bathroom, glancing in doors and staring briefly at every painting, allowing small gasps of amazement to escape him. The sheer amount of rooms branching from the corridor made John question quietly to himself how big the mansion actually was. He was so lost in thought that, had Sherlock not grabbed his arm in time, he would have run into Mrs. Hudson. They finally reached a door at the end of the corridor and John assumed it led into the bathroom.

“I’ll get you boys some towels and dry clothes,” Ms Hudson said cheerfully and turned away to walk briskly down the way the had just come.

Sherlock reached for the door handle, before sharing an awkward glance with John, and opened the door. Inside, John really shouldn’t be surprised any more, was the largest bathroom he had ever seen. The floor had a checkered pattern of tiles, which were white and blue, white marble pillars scaled the corners of the walls that reach to the ceiling a good 7 kilometers, John guessed. The swirling grey patterns of the marble accented the blue tiles and the edging around the swimming pool like tub. Lightning flashed outside which for a brief moment made the colours from the mosaic windows flash across the floor. The main and biggest window depicted a pirate ship, to its left a beautiful siren sang her song to the ship members, and to the right a kraken loomed over the unsuspecting pirates. The ship caught between two evils and the rest of the surrounding windows varied in the blue hues of the ocean.

Sherlock walked over to a large sink that sat in the middle of a row of sinks across the far wall and he gently placed the frog they found in the sink and filled it with just the right amount of water and smiled down at his new green friend who settled into the water comfortably. Sherlock then made a move over to the head of the tub, and John followed him. Once they reached the end of it, John was surprised and confused to find not two but five knobs to turn on the bath water. Sherlock reached forward and with a skill only he could possess, he turned all the knobs on to allow a quick flow of hot water.

“Its so the tub fills up faster,” Sherlock spoke as if reading Johns mind. He turned and reached to open a small cupboard in the corner that John hadn’t noticed before, and pulled out a medium sized purple bottle. Sherlock walked forward and without hesitation he pour it’s whole contents into the bath. As soon as it hit the waters hot surface it started to bubble. As Sherlock moved about the room pulling out towels and a basket that seemed to be filled with various rubber ducks and a large pirate ship toy, John pulled off his shirt and rang it out into on of the various sinks lining the far wall. He laid it out across the dark blue counter to dry along with his trousers. A faint smell of strawberries filled the room as John turned to see only the top of Sherlock’s hair above the water and the bubbles.

A laugh escaped John as he pulled off his pants and jumped into the warm water himself. The warm water soothed his tense muscles that had tightened from the chill of the rain. John searched around the water for Sherlock but could only find multiple rubber docks and the pirate ship that bobbed along the water. The sound of rushing water came to a stop and John could see Sherlock’s mop of black making it’s way through the bubbles. Sherlock grabbed the ship and practically swam his way over to John. He had a large grin on his face as if he were presenting his most prized possession.

“One day we will sail on a ship like this,” Sherlock spoke as he pushed the toy across the water to John. John caught the toy and inspected it, amazed by the detail.

“We’ll sail across the seven seas and visit the seven wonders of the world, what do you say Sherlock?”

“I think it is a wonderful plan John, and as Captain of this ship I give you the honour of choosing our first destination when we set sail.” Sherlock smiled and swam his way around the large tub. John pushed the boat around in his spot, comfortable where he was when a large wave of water washed over him.

After wiping the water aways from his eyes John glared over at Sherlock who looked at him innocently. The raven haired boy gathered a few of the ducks before swimming back over to John. He placed them around the pirate ship and looked to John with a serious expression.

“The ship is surrounded by enemies Dr. Watson, what shall we do?” Sherlock asked in the most official and pirate voice he could do.

“I say we load cannons and blow them all away, Captain.” John played along with a bright smile.

“You are on your way to becoming a fine pirate Dr. Watson. Prepare all canons and be ready to plunder their ships,” Sherlock announced to no one in particular. The two rounded the ship and took turn in knocking the ducks away and imitating canon fire. They fell into laughter at their game and soon found themselves splashing each other, getting soap suds and water all over the floor outside the tub. They stopped when they heard a knock and Mrs. Hudson’s voice rang through the door.

“Boys I brought you some clothes.” She entered the room and put the two sets onto a countertop. She smiled at the playing boys before exiting the room.

Sherlock glanced between the clothes and his prune looking fingers before deciding that they had probably been in the bath long enough. He nodded to John then to the clothes and John followed suit. They grabbed the fluffy white towels and wrapped them around themselves and used another to dry off their hair. Sherlock rubbed the towel against his unruly curls and when he removed it the dark locks flopped against his head in a more unkempt fashion than normal. John laughed to himself as he dried himself. They both pulled on the clean clothes and John knit his eyebrows together. The legs of the jeans were a few centimeters too shorts for him and the shirt a bit tight.

“Are these your clothes Sherlock?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“They are a bit too small for me,” John said shyly, pulling at the shirt lightly.

Sherlock turned to the older boy and huffed. “You are just too big.”

John laughed lightly at the other boy’s apparent dislike for the situation, and as he turned to hide his smile from Sherlock his eye caught sight of the frog still resting in the sink. He paused briefly before wandering over to the creature, with Sherlock in close and curious pursuit. John looked over at Sherlock, not really speaking but conveying his question none the less.

“We’ll leave him here until Mycroft goes to sleep and then we’ll put him in Mycroft’s pillow.” Sherlock decided with a curt nod. He then went to grab his clothes that he had tossed about the floor before the pairs bath, after all the articles were in his arms, he walked over and pressed a button to drain the tub. John followed suit and grabbed his own clothes. The boys exited the bathroom and Sherlock led him to the laundry room where he dumped their clothes into the drier and started the machine. On their way out of the laundry room they ran into Mrs. Holmes. Her face brightened when she saw the boys before a laugh escaped her.

“John, dear, it seems Sherlock’s clothes are too small for you,” Sherlock huffed at her remark. “I just bought some new clothes for Sherlock in the hopes that he will grow into them. How about you try some of those, they will probably fit better.”

John nodded and the boys followed Mrs. Holmes up to the master bedroom. A few bags of clothes sat on a dresser. The woman walked over the the bags and sorted through a few of them before producing a shirt and trousers. She handed them to the blonde and nodded for him to try them on. John switched his shirt and pants and he visibly relaxed from the more comfortable fit. He pulled lightly at the sleeves of the thin fabric of the black and white striped sweater, grateful that it would not be too hot.

“Thank you Mrs. Holmes,” John smiled.

“You are quite welcome John. Now you two boys run along. Oh and John, I called your mother. She knows you are here and she has given permission for you to stay the night.” The dark haired woman smiled at the boys who whooped with joy.

“Thank you again,” John said. The boys left the room and walked down the hallway heading for the parlor, unsure of what they were going to do next.

“That shirt makes you look like a pirate, John,” Sherlock chimed.

“You think so?” John looked down at his attire curiously. The boys laughed, excited over the thought.

“You can keep it if you’d like. I would never wear it anyway.”

John grinned from ear to ear. “Really? Thanks mate.” As they continued down the hall John glanced around the rooms they passed by and a thought occurred to him. “Sherlock, you said this place has a bunch of secret passageways, right? How about we play hide and seek? You could start teaching me all of the passageways as we play. Start easy on me though. You could show me a few of the possible passageways you could be hiding in before you hide.”

Sherlock considered this briefly, glancing at a nearby clock which read 4:13 pm and then he nodded, “Alright, John, we can play for a couple hours before bed.” Sherlock suddenly turned and bounded off into a corridor to their right. John quickly ran after him, only to find no one in sight. John frowned and looked around, confused. Only Sherlock was around to hear him scream when a hand jutted out of the lower wall and grabbed his ankle. John took a moment to recover before peering down to meet Sherlocks eyes peeking out of a small, almost unnoticeable, door. It looked like any of the other panels decorating the walls of the corridor, and had it not been open, or had it not had Sherlock inside of it, John would have never noticed the difference.

“This is where I go to read when Mycroft is being insufferable.” Sherlock smiled and slid out of the hiding spot, allowing John a better look inside. It appeared to be just a storage cupboard, where one might put suitcases that aren’t being used or for locking annoying older sisters in before your parents get home. On all sides of the edge of the floor were stacks of books, most of them science and psychology, and on one stack was a flashlight. It occurred to John that if the door was closed to the room it would be completely dark, seeing how it had no lights. John frowned before straightening and looking Sherlock in the eyes.

“It must get lonely in there by yourself,” John stated seriously, his eyebrows furrowed.

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, before he glanced into his hiding space, “I suppose it does.”

They were both quiet for a moment, John trying to catch Sherlocks eye and Sherlock looking down at the floor. John sighed, hooked his arms with Sherlock, and suggested Sherlock show him his other hiding spots.

It took a surprisingly long amount of time for Sherlock to show them to him. Most of the places were far apart and amazingly well hidden. Once again John found himself wondering just how big the mansion was, it seemed endless. They just reached their last spot, and Sherlock was getting pretty excited about this one. He lead John into an open room that looked like a miniature ballroom, all lined around the walls were suits of iron armour. John thought being astonished by now would be silly but he could not help feel giddy at the sight of another interesting room.

“It’s just over here,” Sherlock pointed at one particular suit of armour and scuffled over to it happily. John followed eagerly and when he reached Sherlocks side he was interested to find that this armour statue was not several pieces like the rest of them but in fact all one piece that split open in half, held on one side by several hinges. The whole thing reminded John of an old tin lunch box. The inside had enough space in it to fit a grown man, and John found himself wanting to go inside of it. Sherlock beat him too it however and slid easily in the armour, his lean body easily leaving enough room for movement within the metal man. Sherlock reached forward and gently closed the armour. John heard a click and it looked as if no one had touched it in days, John laughed. He pulled the door open to let Sherlock out and the dark haired boy gave a smirk.

“This suit of armour is my favourite place to hide. No one ever thinks to look there. Except Mrs. Hudson. When they can’t find me after a while she will come and get me, but she never tells.” Sherlock’s face was smug and proud.

“Your grandmother is really nice and cool. It is my turn to hide Sherlock. You start counting to sixty then you have to come and find me.”

Sherlock nodded and covered his eyes and began to count as John ran off. Sherlock’s voice was barely audible over his footsteps as he grew farther away. He ducked into different rooms looking for places to hide but none in particular really stuck out. He found himself tracing their steps from earlier and was soon outside the laundry room. He could hear someone bustling about inside and slowly opened the door. It had been over a minute he was sure, but there was no way Sherlock could have gotten past him, unless he had used secret passageways which was a possibility. WIth extra precaution John peeked into the room. To his relief it was only Mrs. Hudson. He walked into the room with a smile and when the woman turned an eye on him he held a finger to his lips. She giggled and turned back to the laundry. John crawled into on of the hampers and covered himself with some sheets. After a few moments silence Mrs. Hudson lifted the sheets.

“And what are you boys doing now?” The old woman asked.

“Playing hide and seek. I’m hiding.”

“So you are. Here is a piece of advice,” Mrs. Hudson leaned down and whispered into John’s ear and the boy grew excited. He nodded his head excitedly and Mrs. Hudson threw the sheet back over him.

John sat and counted on his fingers, growing more impatient as the minutes ticked by. It was roughly around the ten minute mark when the door creaked open again. John stilled his breaths but his heart beat out his ears. He was sure Sherlock could hear it. It was louder than even the washer. Sherlock pulled the sheet back with a smirk and John let out a sigh. He quickly climbed out of the hamper and covered his eyes, giving no warning as he started to count. He could hear the patter of Sherlock’s footsteps as Sherlock rushed to his hiding spot. They played quite a few rounds before John found himself in the suit of armour Sherlock showed him just as Mrs. Hudson had advised him. The two could hardly hold in their giggles at this point and John was sure Sherlock would have no trouble finding him. This was proved wrong as it took Sherlock about twenty minutes to find the boy.

John exited the suit of armour with a huff, “how long have you stayed in that for?”

“About seven hours one time. Felt more like three,” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

“You are so strange,” John said with a smile.

“Boys! It is time for supper!” Mrs. Holmes called from the bottom of the stairs.

The boys rushed down the stairs, their growling stomachs just becoming apparent over their jovial shenanigans. They slid into their chairs at the dining table excitedly. Mycroft then came out balancing several dish on a serving tray it was clear he had a lot of experience serving people before. He set the tray down and carefully placed the plates and bowls around the table, clearly avoiding Sherlocks eye. Sherlock chuckled under his breath, though John couldn’t figure out why. Finally Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson came into the room, both clutching pitchers of liquid, one held a smaller dark purple one and the appeared to be just water.

“I hope you boys had fun today?” Mrs. Holmes asked brightly before setting the unidentifiable liquid in front of Sherlock, who quickly reached for it and poured it into both of their cups.

John didn’t hesitate, “More fun than I’ve had in years.”

Sherlock grinned and nodded in agreement. He chuckled slightly before taking a gulp of his drink, he gestured for John to do the same. Now John hesitated, but he took a sip, the taste was like nothing he ever had before.

“What is this, Sherlock?”

“It’s a blend of grape and pomegranate juice,” Sherlock said watching John carefully.

“It is wonderful.”

Sherlock’s grin widened and they all began to dig into the food. Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes made small talk amongst themselves and occasionally to the boys. The two youngest preferred to whisper to each other while they scarfed their food. Mycroft eyed them whenever they would spare glances his way or emitted a giggle. When they finished their meal Sherlock asked if they could be excused and Mrs. Holmes nodded her approval. They quickly scurried off and up the stairs to the bathroom they had previously bathed in. The frog they had left there had moved across the room and sat on the sill of one of the windows. Sherlock sighed and walked over to the creature, picking it up.

“Hopefully it will stay under Mycroft’s pillow better than it did in the sink,” Sherlock commented as they exited the bathroom.

Sherlock led John in the opposite direction of the path to Sherlock’s room. The halls seemed almost identical except for the decorations and the furniture in the rooms John peeked into. John found it impossible that so many rooms could be furnished all differently. Mycroft's room was much cleaner than Sherlocks, that’s what John noticed first. It was organized and immaculate. Next he saw something that confused him, a treadmill? Why would a boy his age need a treadmill, John wondered. He shook it off and crossed the room to stand next to Sherlock who eagerly placed the frog under the pillow. Sherlock lightly stroked the frog’s back until it settled into the sheets and Sherlock replaced the pillow.

They started to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. They exchanged glances before rushing out the door, hoping that whoever it was wouldn’t see them. They rushed into Sherlock's room, and just as John was past the doorway he saw Mycroft out of the corner of his eye, climbing the last of the stairs. Sherlock smiled and shut the door behind John, laughing quietly. Everything was quiet for a few minutes before a rather girly scream came from across the hall. Sherlock laughed louder than John had ever heard. It caused him to laugh as well. Soon their laughter was so loud it muffled angry footsteps approaching their door.

“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!”

Sherlock stopped laughing abruptly, and ran over to the door, quickly locking it just in time for the door knob to start rattling as someone tried to open the door. The shaking increased as Mycroft started yelling. Sherlock and John started backing away from the door, giggling and they both collapsed on Sherlock's bed.

They pounding and yelling on the door stopped eventually, all the while the boys were cracking up and smiling at each other. After Mycroft left, Sherlock got up and started to gather his blankets and pillows off his bed.

“Is he going to tell your mother?” John asked, sitting up from his laying position on Sherlocks now bare bed.

Sherlock paused briefly, considering the question, before walking across the room to drag his spare arm chair across the carpeted floor, bringing it to rest besides his bed bottom frame, “If that's the case, we need to build our defenses!”

“Build our defense?” John questioned, tilting his head slightly, watching Sherlock start placing the pillows in seemingly random positions. He continued to watch, not really understanding what it was Sherlock wanted to accomplish. It wasn’t until Sherlock put the blanket over top of all the pillows that John realised it was a blanket fort. It was incredible, better than any John had ever made anyway. By using the poles from the canopy on Sherlock’s bed he built a high wall and expanded on it with smaller sitting areas and crawling space with his stacks of books. The main area was between the bed, three book ‘pillars’ and his desk. For a final touch Sherlock pulled dome fairy lights from his various piles of stuff, entered the fort and strung it around the main area before plugging it in under the desk and emerging from the blanket fortress.

It was then that there was footsteps coming up the stairs. Sherlock hurried and tugged John into the fort. The footsteps stopped in front of his door, and tried turning the knob, which didn’t work because Sherlock didn’t unlock the door. They could hear a huff outside the wood, and then there was the sound of a key going into the lock. Sherlock gripped John’s arm as there was a click. The door slowly opened with a creak.

“Boys, Mycroft told me about the frog,” Mrs. Hudsons ever so cheerful voice floated into the room, “Now I’m not mad at you, but you should really apologize.”

“Sorry Mycroft,” John’s voice came through the blankets slightly muffled.

“We can’t quite hear you boys, would you mind stepping out of the artfully crafted castle for a moment?” Mrs. Hudson chimed.

The boys sighed disgruntledly before crawling out toward the entrance closest to the door. They stood next to each other with small, shameful, but amused smirks. John nudged Sherlock who nudged him in return. Neither of them wanting to go first now that they were under the watchful eye of Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft. Mycroft cleared his throat and SHerlock shot him a glare.

“Sorry, Piecroft,” Sherlock said, sticking his tongue out.

Mycroft scoffed and looked to Mrs. Hudson who sighed. “Now Sherlock, be nice to your brother when apologizing.”

Sherlock sighed, “Sorry, _My_ croft.”

“Sorry,” John echoed.

“Very good. Oh and by the way dears, I brought you these,” Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock a bag of Animal Crackers, turned and walked out the door. Mycroft gave one last glare at his brother before doing the same. He shut the door behind him.

Sherlock was quick to go back into his fort, and John followed him, smiling. Sherlock opened the bag of snacks and offered it to John, who took a generous handful. They munched on the small frosted cookies for a few minutes without saying much of anything, before Sherlock seemed to get bored of the silence. The thunder rumbled darkly outside and a smile spread across Sherlock’s face.

“What a perfect setting,” Sherlock commented. “John, what do you say we tell ghost stories?”

“Oh I’m not good at telling ghost stories….”

“Give it your best shot. Come on,” Sherlock almost pouted, almost.

“Okay, ahhh, well, once upon a time-”

“You don’t start off ghost stories with once upon a time, John.”

“Oh. Okay, well then…. There once was this boy who grew up in a small town called Westington, he lived there with his mom and brother. They decided to go out for a drive to see their aunt who lived a couple miles away from their house. About halfway there, they ran out of gas and the boys mother asked his brother to go to the gas station up the road to buy some gas. The brother agreed, and started to go up the road in the direction of the gas station. Twenty or so minutes passed by and he hadn’t come back. His mother started to worry because it was getting dark outside and she was afraid her son had gotten lost so she told the little boy to stay in the car while she went to go see if she could find his brother. He was told to stay in the car and let no one in. He agreed and his mother left, up the road, and out of sight. The boy waited and waited until he fell asleep. He woke to a thud on the roof of the car. He shrugged it off thinking maybe it was a tree branch, or something. It was now dark outside. He couldn’t see much of the road or very far into the woods on either side of the road. Suddenly a second thud hit the roof of the car, much heavier than the first one. The boy looked all around the car and something on the front passenger side window caught his eye. It was a trail of liquid, too dark to see what color, coming from the roof. The boy stared at in until suddenly there was a knock on the window, right next to his ear. The little boy turned and saw nothing. He turned back to the liquid trail to see the face of his brother hanging off the side of the car. He didn’t look right and even though his mother had told him not to get out of the car he slowly unlocked and opened his door. Impaled on the roof of the car was his mother and brother, quite dead. The little boy heard a chuckle behind him. He turned around and saw himself standing in front of him. Then everything went dark.”

Sherlock smiled and bit his lip. “Is that it?” He asked.

“Yes,” John said plainly.

“Boring,” Sherlock sighed.

“Well could you do better?” John challenged.

Sherlock smiled and crawled out of the fort quickly. He rustled around for a moment before returning with Billy and a torch . He unplugged the fairy lights and turned the torch on, shining it just under Billy. He moved the skeleton around as if it were animated and speaking. When Sherlock spoke it was in a lower register than normal.

“How long have you been coming to these woods young one?”

“A few years,” John answered.

“Oh then he wouldn’t know, would he Sherlock?” Sherlock turned Billy to face him and he shook his head with a frown.

“Wouldn’t know what?”

“About her,” Billy turned back to him and John swore the skeleton almost smiled. “They say she used to live in a cottage not far from here and would visit with her family every year. They lived just along the river and her favourite pastime was playing in the water. She hated when storms rolled around and her parents wouldn’t let her go into the river. She would sit at the window and wait, and pray, for the rain to go away. Over and over she would ask her parents, ‘Mummy, Daddy, can i please go outside? Mummy, Dadddy, can I please go outside? Mummy, Daddy.’ They would always tell her no and to wait for the sunshine.” Thunder rumbled the room and Sherlock could see John gulp down a lump in his throat.

“For an entire week it stormed and the girl grew restless. Her parents left for town to get some food and told her to watch over her younger sister, to not go outside, and to not answer the door for anyone. She watched her parents leave through the window and when they were out of sight she headed for the door. Her sister reminded her of what her parents said but she patted the girl’s head and told her she would only be a few minutes. An hour passed and when the younger sister heard a knock at the door she got up to answer it.”

“Who was at the door?” John breathed.

“Now that would ruin the story,” Sherlock smirked. “When the older sister arrived back from playing in the water she opened the door panicked, and began screaming at her parents that had arrived moments earlier. “Mummy! Daddy! Mummy! Daddy! Sissy is gone. She’s been hanged, she’s been hanged.” The parents followed in shock to a bridge just down the way where their youngest daughter hung from a rope just above the rapidly flowing water. ‘I was only gone a moment I swear!’ The girl screamed. ‘I don’t know who did this. She knew not to answer the door for anyone.’ Her distraught parents fell to their knees at the bank of the water and looked up at their youngest daughter. ‘Why did you leave her?’ they scorned. ‘You are never allowed to play in the water again.’ The girl’s eyes grew wide and she clenched at her dress. ‘Mummy, daddy, you shouldn’t have said that.’ The rapids grew stronger and licked at the knees of her parents. They looked down to the water terrified then back to their little girl. ‘They don’t like it when you say things like that.’ The water below them grew dark and their daughter walked closer, her eyes glazed. From the sleeve of her dress she pulled out a silver knife. ‘They said sissy would be lesson enough.’ The parents stood, petrified. They were caught between their daughter and the rapids. In a quick movement the daughter swiped the knife across the pale skin of their necks and pushed them back into the dark water. Their bodies carried quickly away from her and the water calmed some. With a small smile the girl walked into the river. She slowly slipped into the water and disappeared into it’s depths.” Sherlock watched John carefully as he became enraptured with the story, fear running rampant in his features.

“They say that on stormy nights you can still hear her voice across the wind. ‘Mummy, Daddy. Mummy, Daddy.’” Sherlock switched the torch off covering them in darkness. “‘Can I go outside and play?’” There wasn’t a moment for silence to fill around them before the harsh wind burst the windows open and rattled them around noisily. John screamed and pulled pillows around himself to protect himself. Sherlock laughed. He put a hand on John’s shoulder and pulled him out of the blanket fort, showing him some fishing wire he had tied to the windows to held them shut while he told the story. He then explained how he let go of them when he shut off the torch so the wind would add a dramatic effect.

“You scared the heck of me Sherlock,” John gasped as they climbed back into their fort. Sherlock plugged the fairy lights back in and they laid out across the blankets and pillows, John scooting a little closer to Sherlock, hir nerves still getting the better of him from the story. The two told lighter stories and ate their animal crackers, even having Billy tell a few tales from his pirate days. With laughter and deep yawns the two soon fell asleep huddled together in their pirate fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All sub stories (the scary stories) were made on spot while writing this for your entertainment.


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